High Tea at Nonnatus House
by Steff
Summary: Mr and Mrs Busby attend a celebration at Nonnatus House, much to Delia's embarrassment.


**Summary** : There is a celebration at Nonnatus House and much to Delia's embarrassment, Mr and Mrs Busby are invited to attend.

 **Disclaimer** : Call The Midwife belongs to the BBC and others - I am simply borrowing their beautiful characters.

 **Author's note:** This is cross-posted from Archive of our Own. It is the third in the 'Tea Series'. I must apologise that it is not up to my usual standards, but I wanted to get some non-angst fic out after a rather devastating week. So, this may be a little more modern sounding than usual or not quite in character. However, I hope it provides just a tiny glimmer of sunshine in a very gloomy period.

This is for my American friends/pupcake fans. Please know that there is always hope and that you have support and friendship...

* * *

Delia squirmed uncomfortably in her seat and wondered for the thousandth time what she had done or who she had upset to deserve this.

Sister Monica Joan had finally deigned to admit her age and allow a small gathering to celebrate her 80th birthday. It would be a bittersweet affair, as Sister Evangelina was no longer with them. It was also rather eccentric, given that she was at least 84. However, Sister Monica Joan decided that it would only be appropriate to have a high tea, with a generous assortment of cakes, so as to irritate the sense of austerity Sister Evangelina upheld, well in spirit at least.

Delia had initially been crestfallen when Sister Winifred eagerly shared the date of the tea. It clashed with an anticipated visit by Mrs Busby. Sister Julienne hadn't missed a beat and had invited Mrs Busby to share tea with them. After all, she was considered part of their extended family.

After writing to invite her, Delia received a telephone call a few days later advising that her father would be attending as well. He was eager to inspect the place where his beloved daughter spent so much of her time, and wanted to put faces to the names of the nuns Delia had described.

Patsy, of course, had found the whole situation hilarious. Delia had always been one for words and she had spared no expense in describing the nuns to her parents, as well as the other nurses. "I did tell you to rein it back in, but you do insist on hyperbole."

"Well I can't undo anything now, can I? It's not mam I'm worried about. She'll be so desperate to make a good impression she'll probably only speak when she's spoken to."

"And your father?" Patsy teased. The red-head adored Delia's father. He was honest and kind and had a cheeky earnestness that made him incredibly easy to talk to. When they had first met, he had charmed Patsy immediately. It was obvious where Delia got her temperament from.

Delia groaned. "He'll probably try and chat up Nurse Crane." Her eyes bugged out slightly. "Or worse, Trixie." The brunette looked a bit panicky. "Oh Lord. What if he tries to chat up one of the nuns?"

Patsy howled with laughter. "I can't wait," she managed eventually, gasping for breath and wiping the tears from her eyes.

"You're no help," Delia pouted, folding her arms resentfully.

Patsy took pity on her girlfriend and stood up. "Delia, your father is a charming, intelligent and _kind_ man. He won't do anything that might upset the nuns. And I am absolutely confident that they will all love him."

"That's what I'm afraid of," the shorter woman muttered darkly.

Now, Delia sat next to her mother around the extended dining table in order to celebrate Sister Monica Joan's birthday. Her father had been exuberant in his greeting of her and Patsy when he entered but had been the model of politeness as they walked through to the dining room.

When they were invited to sit down, Gerraint ensured that his wife was seated with Delia and Reverend Hereward before hurrying to lay claim to a seat between Patsy and Trixie.

"You can't possibly be a midwife with hands like that," he commented as he nodded to Trixie's well manicured and moisturised hands.

"Oh, I am. I just try and ensure that I do my best to look after them," Trixie smiled back. Mr Busby was delightful. She felt quite safe flirting with him.

"Well, according to my daughter, you're an absolute marvel. If you look after your patients even half as well as you look after your hands, they must be the most cared for patients in London."

Trixie beamed and caught Delia's eye. "I didn't know you'd been talking about me," she called down the table.

Delia flushed. "I haven't really. I just like to write long letters home. Some of the letters talk about you all too."

"Delia paints quite the picture," Gerraint continued conversationally, smirking slightly as he saw his daughter roll her eyes in exasperation.

"Really? And what, pray tell, has she told you about me?" Nurse Crane arched an eyebrow at the man sat opposite her.

"Nurse Crane." Mr Busby sounded genuinely excited. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance at long last," he enthused.

Phyllis frowned, confused by the exuberance of his greeting. "Oh yes. Why's that?"

Delia narrowed her eyes. She knew her father. He was warming up for something.

"Well for a start, I wanted to thank you for looking out for Delia. She wrote and said that she couldn't have asked for a better big sister to look after her and lean on as she is so far from home."

Phyllis gasped in delight, blushing slightly at the attention. "I like to look after all our nurses here."

"That is very clear to see. It makes my heart beat a little easier knowing that she has such a stalwart friend. That all the young nurses do," Mr Busby beamed, his smile widening as he saw Phyllis's blush deepen.

Patsy very nearly spat out her drink. She had seen the letter Delia had sent home describing Phyllis. The description was of a disciplinarian matriarch who was often as regimented as Delia's own mother, but who acted with the best of intentions.

Delia stared at her plate, wondering if her father was going to simply go round the table and see if he could charm everyone. She resolutely kept her gaze away from Patsy. She was certain that the tall midwife would be enjoying this far too much.

"That's very kind of you to say so, Mr Busby."

"Gerraint, please," the Welsh man offered.

Phyllis looked down slightly and Patsy and Trixie did their hardest not to allow their faces to mirror their astonishment. Phyllis was totally falling under his spell.

"But it isn't just me at Nonnatus House. We are all a large family who look after each other." Even now, Phyllis was generous and modest to a fault and she looked round kindly at the nuns and other nurses.

"I know," Gerraint said softly. "It was why I could cope with Delia returning to London after her accident. I knew that she would be well looked after here, pastorally as well as spiritually. And I must be honest, when Delia wrote to her mother and told her of Sister Monica Joan's birthday celebration, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to get to meet you."

"Well, I think it's lovely to meet you too," Sister Winifred interjected. "Family is such a special gift."

Mr Busby frowned for a moment. "Don't tell me. You're Sister Winifred." He glanced down the table at his daughter, a look of confusion on his face. "Cariad, you told me Sister Winifred was a teacher before she became a nun. That can't be right."

"Oh no, it is," Sister Winifred interjected firmly.

"Impossible. You can't possibly be old enough to have been a teacher first."

Sister Winifred flushed scarlet.

"Dad!"

"Gerraint!" Enid and Delia admonished him simultaneously.

Mr Busby's eyes widened slightly before he looked back at Sister Winifred. "I do apologise Sister. It was absolutely not my intention to cause you any embarrassment whatsoever. I do hope you'll forgive a man for simply speaking his mind in wonder." He was genuinely contrite.

Sister Winifred nodded firmly, smiling. "Of course. I am not offended at all."

"Not all women are used to being exposed to such a silken tongue," Sister Monica Joan commented enigmatically.

"I have no silver tongue, sister," Mr Busby refuted. "I simply speak my mind."

"It is matters of the flesh that drive men to charm," the elderly nun continued.

Mr Busby canted his head to one side. "I must admit that I know of many men who do just that," he agreed carefully. "But we aren't all like that. My actions are driven by my love of them, yes. But it's much more than that, Sister. I admire your strength, your courage, your compassion and your kindness. To be brutally honest, there's many a man who could do with those female attributes." He smiled fondly at his wife and his daughter. "I'm blessed to have two very strong women in my life. I know how lucky I am with them, so I can't help but want the same with other strong women."

His gaze caught Patsy's and he couldn't help but wink at her slightly. She grinned back, nodding in support.

"Well I think it's wonderful," Sister Winifred declared.

"It's foolish," Mrs Busby demurred, but there was no barb of criticism in her tone and she looked at her husband affectionately.

Mr Busby smiled at his wife. It was clear that he had heard that barb before, but he was unfazed. He looked back towards Sister Winifred. "If I can return to the subject without embarrassing you - what did you teach?"

The young nun was only too glad to engage in conversation with Mr Busby.

Patsy leaned over to Delia. "Are you alright?" She asked

"Other than an acute case of extreme embarrassment, I'm just fine," Delia replied drily.

Patsy gave a half-smile. "You do know that everyone here is now seeing exactly where you get your charm from."

"No, they're too busy being hypnotised by his accent and hanging on his very word," Delia demurred.

Patsy nodded and waggled her eyebrows. "You are rather making my point for me," she said brightly.

Delia frowned. "He's incorrigible and he just can't help himself." A smile replaced her concern. "It does make him rather adorable though," she admitted.

True to Delia's prediction, Mr Busby paid attention to all the table's occupants carefully. Even Sister Mary Cynthia was not spared. Fortunately, Tom was on hand to entertain Mrs Busby and he regaled her with tales of church excursions and work within the community. Mrs Busby approved.

With the meal finished, Gerraint sat back and sighed contentedly. "What a marvellous spread," he lauded. "It was a banquet worthy of royalty, or at the very least, a long serving, dedicated nun." He smiled at Sister Monica Joan.

She beamed back at him before casting a disparaging gaze at what was left of her birthday cake. "I rather doubt that the Queen would have such a meagre remainder of a celebration," she mused.

"Oh, goodness me. We completely forgot." Enid was suddenly flustered. "Delia told us how much you like cake, Sister Monica Joan. So I made one of my grandmother's finest recipes for you. I put it in the kitchen so that you can have it for later."

Sister Monica Joan was out of her seat before Mrs Busby had finished speaking. "You are too kind," she called over her shoulder. "But unless I do something to protect it's integrity, I fear it will not serve its intended purpose." The elderly nun's disembodied voice faded as she scurried into the kitchen.

Delia looked at her mother with sympathy. "Honestly mam, you could not have brought a better gift," she commended.

"I beg to differ," Sister Julienne replied, smiling beneficently at her guests. "The best gift was your company. And you are _both_ always welcome here."

"Much as it pains my heart that you aren't at home, cariad, I can see why you choose to stay here." Mr Busby nodded. He patted the pockets of his jacket all of a sudden. "Would it be terribly rude if I excused myself and fed my habit?" He asked almost shyly of Sister Julienne.

"Your habit?" Sister Julienne canted her head as she enquired politely.

"I do enjoy my pipe after a nice meal," Gerraint explained, retrieving his with a flourish.

"You are welcome to use the garden for your vice, Mr Busby." Sister Julienne's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Marvellous. I'm gasping." Trixie stood up immediately and was quickly followed by Patsy.

"Hang on, you should be helping clean up," Barbara protested as she began to gather dirty plates.

Patsy smiled brightly. "We can't have our guests unattended now, can we?"

"Absolutely. And who better than Patsy and I to offer, given that we all share the same vice," Trixie continued.

"I'm sorry Trixie, I simply can't believe a woman as sophisticated as you smokes a pipe," Gerraint demurred.

Trixie laughed musically. "You are silly, Mr Busby. I've always preferred a Sobranie." She winked as she made her way to the garden.

Delia felt like banging her head on the table. It wasn't enough that her father was happy to flirt with her friends. They now felt comfortable enough to flirt back. And Patsy was traitorously slinking off to join them, leaving Delia to deal with her mother. She sighed as she helped Barbara with the plates.

"Sister Julienne, I do apologise for my husband's behaviour. He usually has much better manners." Mrs Busby sounded embarrassed as she spoke with the senior nun.

"Mrs Busby, there is no apology needed. Your husband is a kind and honest man. His love for you and your daughter are obvious to us all. If he is a little more _exuberant_ than we are used to, it is to be welcomed. Our tea today has been quite the excitement for us all." Sister Julienne moved to the kitchen and filled the kettle before placing it on the hob.

Delia smiled with relief. Her mother was getting on famously with Sister Julienne and had relaxed enough to stop finding fault in her every move. Perhaps her parents weren't quite so bad as she thought they were.

A loud squeal, followed by a shocked; "Mr Busby!" Rudely interrupted Delia's musings. She pursed her lips ruefully. Then again...

 **~finis~**


End file.
